Free Trouble in Paradise by Robert B. Parker Page B

into whatever she was saying. Tony Salt was listening and nodding and laughing often. They walked past Jesse sitting in the darkness and turned into Jenn’s doorway. Jesse’s concentration was so intense that he didn’t realize he had drawn his gun until he clanked it gently against his steering wheel, as he turned in the seat. He rested the gun on the back of the seat, and, knowing he wouldn’t shoot, he aimed it carefully at Tony Salt’s back and sighted carefully at the spot between Tony Salt’s shoulder blades that sat invitingly, and looked a yard wide, on top of the front sight. He held the aim as Jenn fumbled for her keys at the door. Jenn could never find her keys quickly, and when she did find them she never recognized one key from another, so more time ensued while she tried several in the lock before she got the right one. Jesse had always found it endearing that she couldn’t find her keys and, indeed, often lost them. Goddesses had no time for keys. Tony Salt stood close to her while she worked on the keys.
    Jesse knew he was so close that their bodies would be touching every time either of them moved. Jesse could feel how shallow his breathing was. Given the intensity of his feeling, it was surprising that the gun hand was perfectly steady. He squinted a little. He knew it was too far and too dark, but it was as if he could see the weave in the back of Tony Salt’s thousand-dollar jacket. Jenn found the right key, and the door opened. She turned and gave Tony Salt a light kiss and stepped through the door. He followed her. With the door still open, they stopped in the lighted hallway and turned the easy kiss into a long embrace, Jenn slouching a little so that she wouldn’t have to actually bend down to kiss Tony Salt. Jesse could see Tony Salt’s hand move down to Jenn’s butt. He had on a big ring that caught the hall light and flashed like Elliott Krueger’s ring.
    Then they broke the clinch.
    The door shut.
    ”Bang,“ Jesse said.

 
     
    TWENTY-ONE
    ”You’re the last piece,“ Macklin said to Freddie Costa.
    They were sitting in Macklin’s Mercedes in the parking lot near the wharf office on the town pier in Mattapoisett, about ninety minutes south of Boston.
    ”You need a Northshore guy,“ Costa said.
    ”Knows the waters. I never even been up there.“
    ”I don’t have a Northshore guy,“ Macklin said.
    ”You didn’t know the waters in the Mekong, did you? Besides you’re the best sailor I know who’s dishonest.“
    ”Thanks,“ Costa said.
    ”Then if I’m gonna do it, I gotta have time to go up there, cruise around, look at charts. Not only around Paradise but all over that part of the coast.“
    ”Sure,“ Macklin said.
    ”That’s why I’m talking to you early, give you time to plan.“
    ”It’ll cost money,“ Costa said.
    ”You got to spend money to make money,“ Macklin said.
    ”I gotta buy fuel. I got boat payments. I gotta leave my ex with some.“
    ”Haven’t you got anything ahead?“
    Costa laughed.
    ”You talking to me about ahead?“
    Macklin shrugged.
    ”Okay,“ he said.
    ”I haven’t got too much ahead myself.“
    ”Can’t help you without something up-front,“ Costa said.
    Macklin was silent. The harbor around the pier was mostly small sailboats. Some were at their moorings. Their masts bare, the boats tugging gently at the tether. Some were under sail, the mooring marked by the small boat they had rowed out to it. Two kids were fishing off the end of one of the two stone piers. A big old Chris-Craft with gleaming mahogany trim was refueling in the slip between the piers.
    ”Whatta they catching?“ Macklin said.
    ”The kids? Scup if they’re lucky. Blowfish, mostly.“
    ”They good to eat?“
    ”Scup is, but not the blowfish. Kids like to haul them in, get them to inflate, and skip them on the water.“
    ”There’s a good time,“ Macklin said.
    ”You know what kids are like.“
    ”No,“ Macklin said.
    ”I don’t.“
    They were